Is there a reason you're naked in my bed?
by ImNotStubborn
Summary: It's not what you think. Unless you think it's me missing the hell out of these two and filling that silly title prompt to cope, then it's exactly what you think. (Set post 6x11)


Teresa Lisbon wakes up long before her alarm that morning.

Which in itself is odd, for two reasons. The first one is that she's as far from an early bird as they come, and she never spontaneously wakes up before dawn. The second is that she's always been the heaviest of sleepers –it took her years as a child to figure out just how loud she needed to set her radio so it would dig through to her unconscious mind and get her to school in time– and she could sleep through a damn storm, so what the hell could have woken her up now?

Rubbing at her eyes and slowly parting her eyelids in the dim-lighten room, she looks down and catches sight of a hand and arm casually draped over the covers at her hips, solving that mystery.

She smiles in bemusement, her foggy mind confused but somewhat happy to see these long fingers resting there, safely, the wedding band almost knowingly shimmering in the glow from the streetlight facing her window.

So, then again, she thinks to herself as a pleasing and familiar smell invades her senses, a lot seems to be out of place this morning.

Halfway through a yawn, she frowns.

Wedding ring? That scent?

Her eyes snap open, and although she's still not completely awake, panic is definitely urging the process along as she turns her head around and finds herself face to face with the last person she'd ever want… well, _expected_ to share her pillows with.

"Jane? what the hell?!" she screams, her voice an octave higher than usual, tugging to put the covers over herself in a silly reflex of modesty.

That much more silly, she only realizes afterward, when it turns out that she's the only one wearing a top here.

"Wha? Wha's happenin'?" comes the muffled, barely articulated response her consultant rushes out.

His stupidly gorgeous hair is flattened on one side where his head left the pillow, and she won't dwell on how much the domesticity of this single detail makes her chest hurt –just like she won't look down at the amount of his skin suddenly exposed– as she waits for his eyes to finally open.

"For fuck's sake," she breathes out, telling herself that he probably needs a minute to emerge. "Patrick Jane, pardon my curiosity but," she starts more gently, "is there a reason you're naked in my bed?"

Part of her is very proud of managing an equal tone, and of swearing only once in all that.

That part immediately sides back with the confused and pissed off rest of her, as the only reaction she gets from her working partner is a suspiciously huge grin. One she would almost find endearing in its brightness and the aura of nonchalance it tries to project, if she wasn't busy losing it over this messed up situation she can't remember getting herself into.

"Oh, hey Lisbon, how are you?" he asks cheerfully, stretching his arms over his head –and she does _not_ stare at his flexing muscles. "I'm not naked, you know. I'm wearing my boxers," he adds, then lies back on his side as if the matter was completely settled.

"Jane! What the hell?!" she repeats, this time with a lot more anger than surprise in her tone.

"Would you stop screaming, Lisbon?" he sighs as he sits up, looking as innocent as he does after pulling one of his stunts. "I know you're not a morning person, but come on."

Instead of giving him the satisfaction of seeing that he's getting on her nerves, knowing how much it amuses him to even just get a classic Lisbon glare out of her, she pinches the bridge of her nose as she closes her eyes for a minute. It has worked before to get him to talk, if rarely, and she's kind of given herself a headache with her own volume anyway.

She grants herself a mental self five when it pays off.

"Alright, fine," he concedes, stifling a yawn. "You were having a nightmare. And by the way, you should know it's freezing in that guest room of yours."

She looks at him with an eyebrow raised, more confused now by the lack of logic in this supposed explanation, than by the reason he's in her house in the first place.

Since, alright, now that her brain's finally catching up with reality, she does remember kind of ordering him to crash at her place after his –stupid– con had –epically– failed and she was more than a little concerned he'd die of hypothermia in this awful tin can of a mobile home that he loves so much.

Still, that doesn't explain the fact that he's in her bedroom, because as hospitable a person as she is, she's pretty sure she would remember having extended _that_ kind of a privilege to a coworker. And especially to this one, considering the number of times she's thought ab– but that's not important right now.

Instead, she focuses on the one thing he let slip, probably by accident in his half-woken state.

"I was what?"

Jane sighs again, and of course he feels the right to be annoyed right now, why should that surprise her? But the tiredness on his face does make up for it a little as he rubs his face in his hands and starts to really explain, finally serious about answering her questions.

"I couldn't sleep because, as I said, I was cold. My clothes were still drying in your bathroom, and I didn't find anything I could wear in the guest room's drawers," he says with a half-sorry glance at that admission.

Lisbon just rolls her eyes, not looking even a little surprised that he would snoop around –and come on, it's not like he doesn't have a good excuse this time.

"So I got up to pace around like I usually do when I can't sleep, but then I heard you tossing and talking and I went to see if you were okay," he continues, and she looks down, obviously uncomfortable, "and you didn't look it. So I went in and talked to you for a bit to help you calm down. And... I guess I fell asleep next to you."

He leaves out the part about her mere presence next to him lulling him to the best –if short– night's sleep he's had since he'd left the country, because he's not sure that would sound so good right now.

She looks more cooperative and the anger is mostly gone when he's done, although he can't help but notice how tense her jaw stays, as well as the familiar and in this moment, more painful than ever, glint of mistrust he still sees in her eyes.

"Come on, Lisbon," he tries in too bright a tone, "can't you trust me?"

"You're one to talk about that," she mutters, sounding more tired than upset.

The twinge he feels inside at those words shouldn't come as a surprise. And yet it does, reminding him once more how much he cares about Lisbon and her opinion of him.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he can't help but ask, gritting his teeth in preparation for her answer.

But she just shakes her head slowly instead, as if she's done responding to his provocations. And of course he knows she's beat right this moment, and it doesn't have to mean that she'll never again respond the way she used to, that they'll never be able to communicate in their fucked-up, tensed but effective way.

Still, it's like all of a sudden he can see the wound those two years away from each other inflicted on their relationship, and it's too raw for him to take in.

"Nothing," she breathes out, not looking at him. "It's early. Go back to sleep and we'll talk later," she ends, and the guilty look she shoots him finishes to persuade him not to push.

So, his darkened mood adding a layer of fatigue on top of the physical one, he lies back down, intending to roll off this mattress to get back to the guest room's.

"In the other bed, Jane!" Lisbon squeals, misreading his actions.

"Yes, I was going!" he defends himself as he stands up at once. "You really have to stop treating me like a criminal, Lisbon."

"Well, you are one, aren't you?" comes out of her mouth too loud, too harsh, too fast even for herself if her widening eyes are anything to go on. "God. I'm sorry," she whispers immediately, bringing a hand to her mouth.

"Is that how you see me?" he hears himself asking, wincing at the vulnerability in his own voice.

"No! No, Jane, come on. I've known you for a long time, and although I still have some… issues with how it all went down, I understand why you did it. With the Blake association mess, it's not like we even had much of a choice, what with not knowing who to trust in the system…"

"But I still killed a man with my bare hands and ran away from the justice you love so much. Right?" he finishes for her, his heart beating faster as he rethinks of that fateful moment two centuries, two seconds ago.

The silence that follows neither denies nor confirms the thought, and for the second time in a handful of minutes, Jane gives up the fight –this time when he catches the sight of a glimmer in her eyes.

"Look," she utters huskily, and he wants to kick himself for causing this, "it's barely five AM, we can't be having this conversation right now. You should go."

He nods curtly and turns his back to her, but right before he grabs the door handle, he has to turn around. He can't just leave this hanging between them, as right as Lisbon is about it being the wrong time and place for this. He can't leave her almost crying in her own room, after they've slashed open old cuts and didn't take the time to stitch them up before he goes.

And so, what the hell, he tries for a joke.

"This is about the date, isn't it? Because you can stop worrying about that. She really wasn't my type."

He knows that wasn't the right choice when Lisbon, who had been half-sitting on the bed until now, jumps to her feet so quickly that he takes an actual step back, frightened by the fury now feeding the tears she still hasn't shed yet.

She doesn't shout this time though, as she closes in on him, but instead spits out words laced with more sarcasm than he ever thought her capable of.

"Oh, you saw right through me once more, Boy Wonder," she sneers, and God does he misses the yelling over this uncharacteristic venom. "Of course all I feel here has to be some schoolgirl brand of jealousy, not genuine and very much rational anger at the shit you've put me through this week and the last, even if you know I have FBI agents breathing down my neck at every single stunt you decide to pull from now on!"

"Lisbon, sorry, I..." he tries to interrupt, but she doesn't seem to even hear him.

"But hey while we're on that subject, really, she's not your type? Well, I'm glad to hear you're out of your criminal love interests phase, that's a relief!"

There's a silence as Jane takes in, and hardly believes what he just heard. Because whether she means Erica or Lorelei or both, Lisbon has got to know this is a twisted low blow. And hey, he's tired too.

Besides, he was only trying to do something right by her for once and now all he's getting is creepy accusations they both know he's way above, and his fucked up past thrown in his face. Which, granted, they were both long overdue for some kind of mention of it, but he was just _joking_. When has that, too, become so difficult for them?

"Yeah, well, are you into arrogant billionaires anymore?" he argues back, and feels stupid for it the second it leaves his lips.

"Huh? What are you… Mashburn? Oh my God, are you serious?" Lisbon exclaims, pacing away from him. "Jane! How is it even remotely comparable?"

"No, I know, I'm sorry!" he says, throwing his hands up in surrender, and her glare softens a little at the apology. "As you pointed out, it's early, and neither of us is thinking clearly. I'm going to go now, but thank you for your hospitality."

She narrows her eyes skeptically, crossing her arms.

"It's not sarcasm, Lisbon," he explains, even more exhausted now than he was, hours ago, when they'd first gotten to her house. "You were _really_ nice to invite me here. And thanks for saving my life, too, by the way."

She tries not to smile, but she's not even fooling herself.

"Wouldn't have had to if you weren't so terrible at communicating," she mutters, playing with a strand of her hair, and it feels more like the usual banter he misses so much than an actual reproach.

"I'll get better," he says with the apologetic smile that he knows always works, even though it's darkened a bit by the double meaning that isn't lost on either of them. "Seriously, Lisbon, I'll work on it."

She shrugs pseudo-casually, her giant T-shirt following her shoulders' movement, almost swallowing her whole. He can't stop the wave of warmth and affection he feels as he's reminded of another time, so many years ago, where he's last seen her in this, catching a murderer in her freaking pjs. Damn Lisbon, who would probably hold a serial killer at gunpoint in her wedding dress if she had to.

"Ok. Thanks for saying that."

"See? Making progress already!" he brings one hand up as if waiting for a high five, and although she doesn't reach out to him, telltale dimples are showing on both her cheeks. "I don't want to hide things from you, Teresa. And now that you're officially my partner and not my boss anymore, I might really not have to."

He grins a mischievous grin and she barely hesitates a second, before throwing one back.

Then she bites her lips and sits back down on her bed.

"You don't actually have to leave, you know. It is awfully early, and I could get you a shirt to sleep in–

He stops her from going into the rant he can feel coming, although he is feeling colder now that she's reminding him of his state of undress.

"I used to sleep less than an hour a night, Lisbon, I'm okay. Besides, my clothes are probably dry by now, I'll get back to my Airstream so I can change before work. Wouldn't want the office to gossip over some walk of shame theory now, would we?"

He winks at her, and it takes her a while to look back up at his face from his mostly naked body. He decides not to point out how flustered she suddenly looks, not wanting to ruin that moment too.

"Yeah... Yes, okay. See you… Well, later today, I guess."

"See you, Lisbon," he answers with an awkward wave of his hand as he goes to get dressed, and leaves her house in the quiet of the early morning.

.

Lisbon doesn't fall back asleep after hearing the front door shut. It's not because he's not sleeping next to her anymore, she stubbornly tells herself. The thought does nag at her and it is unnerving to say the least, but even if she's being completely honest, it's not _all_ it is. Because this also feels… exciting, in a way.

It's like there's been a thousandth shift in the air between them last night, but this one is a good one on all points, and it's here to stay.

And she'll admit, if only to herself, that it's almost worth having to make herself a third cup of coffee at headquarters before it's even nine, and still not feeling so much awake.

"Coffee for your thoughts?" she suddenly hears behind her, and even that sneaky habit isn't so annoying anymore.

"This has got to be one of your worst opening lines ever, Jane," she retorts as she turns towards where his voice had come from.

She can't stop the worrying from showing on her face when she realizes that he looks about as well-rested as she feels.

But they know each other so well, that Jane only has to shake his head with a smile to silently reassure her, ridding her of the guilt she feels about not making him stay earlier. This kind of reassurance probably wouldn't have worked on any other day, but today, his insomnia look is somehow better than it's ever been, and there seems to be actual cheer to his attitude rather than the happy front he used to put up –and that she'd quickly learned to see through– back at the CBI.

"Even so," he says, looking almost shy, "I know it's only a start, but... I'm glad we're really talking."

Lisbon is the first to break the deafening silence that follows, as she reluctantly tears her eyes away from Jane's burning gaze.

"I am, too," she admits quietly, and she likes to think she doesn't imagine the breath of relief she hears from his corner of the room. "And hey, look at that, all you had to do was seduce a murdering drug dealer, get frostbite from jumping into a lake in the middle of winter, and take my polite 'make yourself at home' so literally you ended up crashing _in my bed_ , to finally make it happen!"

If there was any residual defiance about the bed-sharing incident remaining between them, it's quickly put aside by the endearingly timid yet cheeky smile she's sporting now. Said smile that he's probably going to blame, even years after this moment, for the words that fall out of his mouth next.

"Rest assured Lisbon, that this is _not_ how I'd imagined my first night in bed with you, either."

And just like that, the smile freezes on her lips, his throat tightens as if to try and stop any more foolishness from getting out, and the tension's back full force.

Except it's a whole different kind now. It's both familiar from so many years of this intense and messed up partnership they've built along the years, and completely alien in the newly light, freer, safer energy there is to it.

Before it's completely clear just which one of them is blushing the hardest, and which step should be taken next, the moment is broken by the sound of Fisher clearing her throat, the wideness of her eyes and her slightly paler than usual complexion betraying what she's overheard.

She holds up her hand as fast as she can when both agents notice her standing there and open their mouths to try and explain themselves.

"Please. I don't want to know. _Ever_. We've got a case!"

 _And I've got a bet to collect on_ , she grins to herself as she turns away quickly, crushing her discomfort at the details she was starting to picture and replacing them with the undoubtedly hilarious face Cho is going to pull when he hears about this one.


End file.
